Pure Empathy
by Ami Kidd
Summary: After no leads on a case, the police get help from a very unexpected person. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Welcome to my second AU fanfic! I recently started watching Hannibal and since I'm obsessed with One Piece this was created. Ta-da~  
Anyways thanks for reading!

**Warnings:** Language, gore, blood, very slow updates.

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He could hear the ring of the alarm before the thick metal doors unlocked and slid open. It wasn't time for lunch or even a regular security check, which could only mean that there was a visitor. He confirmed this theory when he heard the treads of a stranger echo after the metal doors slid shut again. Who in their right mind would visit a mental institution? He pondered as he sat on the edge of his uncomfortably small bed. Whoever they were visiting was probably an unlucky bastard.

"You got a visitor," the security's voice echoed through Kid's empty cell as he sat on his bed, not turning to look or even acknowledging the man.

_Ah._

"Eustass Kid. Twenty three. Institutionalized since last year," a deep voice came, though the prisoner still didn't turn to look; instead, he looked at his surroundings, white walls. Nothing but white walls.

"I'm here to give you an offer," Kid scoffed at the words. It sounded like his visitor was a salesman and he was completely oblivious to the current situation. Kid didn't turn his head but still glanced slightly at the man, seeing only the uniform that this man to be a government official.

"And what would that be?" Kid muttered, continuing to stare at the white walls of his cell.

"Probation," Kid quirked his brow.

"Conditions?" There was no reply and, curious, Kid turned to look at the man standing on the other side of the bars. He was pretty handsome, his suit outlining his lean physique. He had unnaturally long blonde hair, that need to be cut, and icy blue eyes, that looked intently at Kid.

"I need your help."

Kid stared at the man, dumbfounded, before bursting out in laughter. Was the man serious?

"Hey, hey, are you really some government official?" He laughed, standing up from the bed and moving towards the bars to get a closer look at the man. Up close, Kid realized how tall the man was, six foot four– but Kid was taller, beating him by four inches.

The blonde held up his badge, proving to the sociopath of his certification.

"Agent Killer. Criminal investigator and profiler," he stated, causing Kid to burst out into more laughter.

"Killer. A little ironic isn't it?" He mocked, reaching his hands outside of the bars, though the other stepped away.

"You'll be under heavy supervision and you're hands are required to be handcuffed at all times," he stated flatly.

"Doesn't sound like probation at all," Kid smirked. "So what does the law want with a serial killer?" His eyes met the icy blues one, staring deeply into them, trying to analyze any reaction.

"Insight," the words were spoken softly as if the man begrudged his own motives.

"Insight?" Kid repeated questioningly, laughing at the answer. "What possible insight does anyone want from a sociopath?"

Killer's face hardened as he continued to stare back intently at the prisoner.

"Insight on being a sociopath."

There was only amusement on Kid's face as he stopped laughing. This guy must be really desperate to be asking for insight from a psychotic– or so they labeled him– person like him. He didn't say anymore, only quirking his head to the side and grinning at the blonde.

"You can leave tomorrow morning," the officer stated, not giving Kid a chance to answer 'yes.'

"There better be alcohol," Kid yelled as the man left without saying anything else. He watched as the man walked out of sight and walked back to his white bed, lying down on the white sheets, head resting on the white pillow.

He didn't fall asleep that night, staring at the white ceiling that only looked black in the dark. He thought about reasons that could possibly make the police come crawling to a murderer, like him, for help. He smiled at the little adventure that'll relieve him from these boring white walls and maybe, just maybe, he'll be a little cooperative– well, as cooperative as psychopaths can be. He continued to revel in these thoughts, not closing his tired eyes once. Even when the prison lights turned on, he continued to stare at the ceiling until the guards heavy treads echoed through the hallway, eventually reaching his cell, and called.

"Get your things," the guard told him after shackling his arms in front of his body, though he didn't have much to get, in fact, he had nothing to get. He walked outside where a black car waited for him. As he walked up to it, the door opened and inside waited Killer.

"Did you bring the alcohol?" Kid smirked at the man, whose face was impassive.

"No," he said unapologetically. "You can get some later." Kid gave an annoyed sigh before bursting out into laughter.

"Well it's not like I expected any," Kid didn't really care. Although the excitement kept him awake, he could feel his eyelids getting heavier. A little coffee later would help.

Killer didn't say anything else and the car drove off. The institution was isolated on a high hill, surrounded by high walls and maximum security. Kid marveled at how ironically beautiful the surrounding scenery was, making the psychotic ward look like a castle from some odd fairytale.

It was a long, slow drive; neither men talked but it wasn't uncomfortable. The green scenery that peacefully zoomed by and the previous sleepless night started affecting Kid and he nodded off to sleep.

He came to that border between sleep and wakefulness. He knew he remained in the car, feeling the fine black leather beneath his hands and the uncomfortable seat belt that rubbed against his skin. His neck felt sore from leaning on nothing, but he didn't have enough consciousness to move the muscles. Flashing through his mind, the blurry visions, that only make sense when you're dreaming, made a story that would be forgotten as soon as Kid woke up.

"Hey," the voice jolted Kid from his sleep. "We're here."

The red head slowly moved his stiff neck, massaging the sore muscles. He rubbed his eyes as he got out of the car and as the haziness left his eyes, they were met with a large building, having more windows than the psychotic ward had cells.

"This way," Killer directed with his hands as they walked through the large glass doors. Metal detectors. Special IDs. The place just screamed police headquarters.

"I hoped there's a party thrown in my honor," Kid chuckled as they made their way down long hallways and through more locked doors.

"They don't know you're here," Killer muttered, mostly to himself, continuing to lead Kid.

"Didn't get permission huh?" Kid laughed. "I look forward to seeing you get yelled at."

. . .

"Are you out of your mind?" Kid grinned as a man of about thirty with ginger hair remonstrated as Killer introduced the red head. "I did not grant permission for this." Obviously, he supervised the investigation.

"We aren't getting anywhere with the case and I can't create any sort of profile for this killer. He's picking his victims at random," Killer reasoned.

"And you need this sociopath to help you do your job?" The boss questioned. His tone wasn't angry or sarcastic, instead, it was a little defeated, admitting that there was truth to Killer's reasons.

"Yes. I think Eustass Kid has a similar psyche and analyzing it can help move us along with the case."

"Why Eustass Kid though? He bludgeoned eight people to death," The man questioned Killer. The almost same question Kid had been asking in his mind on his way here. Murderers each had their own motives, in this case, takes one to know one doesn't apply at all.

"I agree," a beautiful woman with jet black hair and unnaturally wonderful curves interjected. "I worked on Kid's case. His murders were brutal and unplanned whereas in this case, the victims are killed in a careful and precise manner."

"I still killed eight before you caught me though," Kid sneered.

"So how does this in any way relate to these recent series of murder?" The head said, returning back to the topic at hand.

"Motive," Killer stated flatly. "Kid's murders had no motive, no pattern."

"I had reasons," Kid retorted, smirking at the unreasonable response.

_How the police have fallen_. He thought.

"Not good ones."

"Are there ever good reasons to kill someone?" Everyone turned their heads towards the door where a raven-haired man stood. "I agree with Drake. Using a killer to psychoanalyze another won't help and will be completely useless."

"Doctor," Killer nodded at the man. "How nice of you to join." Though the tone of his voice didn't match the words he uttered.

"The human mind is a complete mystery," he continued, ignoring the other's greeting, and tapped his fingers to his temple. "Each different and unique in it's own way."

"I didn't know psychology was part of your field, Law," the same black haired lady chimed in, smiling at the man.

"No," Law admitted. "That's suppose to be Killer's, but you should know, Robin, by the amount of bodies our forensic team had to analyze that he's not doing a good job." He countered, ignoring the fact that the man he insulted stood in the same room.

"Listen," Killer sighed. "There's been eleven murders in the past two months. No pattern. No leads. Nothing. Using Kid might help or it might not, but it's better than sitting around, waiting for the next victim."

Everyone fell silent because they couldn't argue. He was right.

"Four males and seven females. All of different height, weight, ethnicity, skin color, backgrounds, medical history and so forth." the woman stated as if to reinforce Killer's point. A silence took over the whole office. Everyone looked down, knowing that they haven't gotten even one step closer to capturing the murderer and arguing wasn't helping them get anywhere.

Kid gathered the information.

_Eleven murders in two months huh? Not bad. _He laughed inwardly, relishing at the sight of the policemen's crestfallenness. Although he stood here as a sort of aid, he had no intention of helping. Why should he? They're the kind of people that placed him in that dull room and would probably put him back there once they caught their guy.

Kid looked at each individual in the conference room, all dejected looking. The boss who only talks yet does nothing. The black haired lady who analyzes crime scenes so carefully that she could tell which hand the victim used to eat breakfast. The blonde man– the guy that brought him here– who analyzes the psyche to predict next potential targets. Then he turned to look at the doctor that analyzed dead bodies, not really a doctor at all so to speak. Standing by the door, leaning against the frame, the man returned his gaze so intently, not discouraged at all, unlike his coworkers, and smiled at him slightly in a sort of mocking way. Kid narrowed his eyes, challenging the tanned six foot tall doctor.

"So all the victims are completely unrelated," he stated rhetorically. "So what method does the person use that connects them all back to him?" Kid said, directed at the doctor, getting impatient from standing there; his back itched and his bound hands prevented him from scratching.

Law closed his eyes, a different kind of smile stretching across his face.

"All victims were cut up, almost– no– exactly like a professional," Law stated, looking intently at the red headed man that was to help them find their lead. "Everyone of them missing their heart."

Kid looked away from the doctor, closing his eyes, as he took in the information. He thought about it, tried to picture it: the crazy medical doctor that ran around ripping people's hearts out. Things could get pretty interesting from here he contemplated to himself, but that didn't mean he was willing to help. He wouldn't mind finding out who this serial killer is, but if, no, _when_ he did- he was confident in his skill, after all he hadn't been just a killer before they put him behind bars- he wasn't going to snitch on him. He felt a kind of odd respect for the crazy doctor, being able to kill so many people without the police even being able to get one lead.

He laughed loudly, upsetting all the investigators in the room, who all looked up and glared at the maniac.

"So what do you call him?" Kid asked a smug smile playing across his face.

Law returned the smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** To answer most of the reviews: yes. I made it pretty obvious so it's not a spoiler, at least I hope not... Anyways thanks for all your reviews, the next few chapters will be a little slow story-wise but I hope you continue to read and enjoy :)  
I'll try to get chapter 3 up as soon as I can, but finals week is coming up so sorry in advance

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_"The Surgeon of Death."_

Law's voice echoed in Kid's head as he lied on the bed in "his" new room, staring at the ceiling. His hands were still handcuffed and that pissed him off, but at least the room was nice, better than nice. He laid on a double bed, soft mattress with more pillows than he needed, in the very far back of the room, directly across from the door, which locked from the outside. There was a bar counter on the left side of the room– though empty of any alcoholic beverage– and a nice low table in the center surrounded by two couches facing each other. Wardrobe for his newly bought clothes on the right, just next to the door that connected to the bathroom. Nice accommodations for a man that's suppose to be behind bars. Well, a window or two wouldn't hurt. The artificial lighting reminded Kid of the blinding prison lights, even though these were more orange and not the glaring white he hated so much.

Kid's thought kept returning to the doctor's returned smug smile as he uttered the epithet. _Surgeon of Death. Surgeon of Death. Surgeon of Death._

The name had a good ring to it. Fancy. A little pretentious too. It oddly fitted the murderer well even though he had ne–  
A knock on the door pulled kid out of his thoughts and he turned to look at the source. Even though he didn't grant permission, the blonde man walked into the room. In his hand, he held a folder, stuffed with papers, and a notepad.

"Getting down to business already huh?" Kid grinned, turning back to stare at the ceiling– white again but soft unlike the ones of his prison cell. Killer didn't respond, walking briskly to the couch and settling down. Kid listened as papers rustled and spoke again after a while.

"So how does this work exactly?"

More papers rustled.

"Is it just therapy?"

Killer sighed, prompting Kid to roll over and look at him.

"Do I get to look at the dead bodies?"

The man sat on the edge of the couch, papers spread on the low table before him, elbows on knees, notepad balanced in one hand and pen held lightly in the other.

"Yes it's pretty much just therapy."

Kid slowly dropped his feet to the floor and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"So why the nice accommodations? We could've just had sessions while I was behind bars."

"A comfortable setting makes it easier to talk," Killer stated flatly, sitting up straight.

"For you or for me?" Kid quirked a brow, smirking at the man that didn't look at him.

"Tell me about your childhood Kid," Killer ignored the question.

Kid got to his feet and walked over to the couch opposite the therapist.

"I was a troublemaker," Kid said, settling down into the big couch. He wanted to stretch out his arms and rest them on the back of the sofa. "You know it'd be a more comfortable setting if I had free movement of my hands."

"Why were you a troublemaker?" Killer continued, again ignoring the question directed at him.

"_Why_?" Kid sneered. "_Why not?"_

"And _why not_?" Killer mimicked Kid's question in a more even tone.

Kid burst into laughter, stopped by the icy blue eyes that shot him a glare.

"People. Life. All the things in life," Kid shrugged, a grin plastered on his face from holding back the laughter.

"Any details," Killer asked.

Kid sighed. He thought, foolishly, that he would get to see the dead bodies and the crime scene instead of sit in this fancier prison, talking about his life problems.

"What was my epithet?" Kid countered. "My case didn't get reported in the papers."

"What should it matter? You've been caught," Killer stated, unfazed by his unanswered question.

"Was it as classy as 'Surgeon of Death?'" He stared into the man's cold eyes.

Killer sighed again, closing his eyes and putting down his pen and pad, which had no notes on it.

"I don't know, I didn't work on your case," He rubbed his eyes.

"I thought policemen all sat around lunch and talked ab–"

"Classified information applies to everyone, including people on the force," Killer cut him off. It had been a long day and he wanted to solve this as quickly as possibly. "What are you really interested in?"

"What do you think?" Kid continued to grin and stare at the investigator. "You're the therapist."

Killer looked at him for a second, then glanced down on the table, pushing different papers around and placing a photo in front of Kid.

Kid glanced at the picture that slid towards him; it wasn't what he expected but nevertheless his smile stretched wider on his face.

"Victim number one. Jean Stryder. Twenty. Four blows to the ribs, breaking the bones, three to the stomach, rupturing vital organs, and five to the back of the head, cause of death."

Kid stare at the picture of the handsome young adult, lying on the ground as his own blood pooled around him. Killer slid a second picture towards Kid.

"Victim number two. Melissa Brown. Thirty-two. One blow to the face– instant death– followed by three more blows. "

Kid shifted his eyes to the second picture, next to the first. A blonde woman, dressed too skimpy for her age, leaned against the wall splattered with her blood. Her face, beaten beyond recognition, looked like a clot of blood and flesh. Killer slid another picture towards him.

"Victim number three. Erin Rayner. Fifty-six. Ten blows to the legs, shattering bones, two to the back, breaking the spine, and one to the head, instant death."

"You know. You say 'instant death' but I hit him twelve times before I killed him. He even tried to crawl away," Kid interrupted, looking at the picture of the old man that clung on to the rails as he tried to crawl away. Face down, smashed into the ground, and brain matter splattered on the sidewalk.

Killer sighed, talking up his pen and notepad and leaning back on the couch.

"Tell me," the therapist– more so interrogator– stared at Kid intently. "What did Jean, Melissa, Erin, Judy, April, Summer, Collin, and Fulbert d–"

"Fulbert?" Kid asked mockingly. "He must be grateful I put him out of his misery."

"–do to trigger murderous intent?" Killer continued, keeping his voice even and calm.

Kid closed his eyes and smiled to himself, laughing inwardly, "Asshole. Slut. Pedophile. Whore. Don't remember. Don't remember. Douche. Pretentious bastard."

He stared at Killer, trying to see underneath the cool façade. The investigator returned the man's stare intently before sighing.

"What do I have to do so that you'll be cooperative?" Killer asked, a little defeated.

"I want to look at the dead bodies."

Another sigh.

"You're not an investigator Kid," Killer looked sternly at the man.

"Not even pictures?" Kid questioned, a little childish.

"What did you do before you got caught?" Killer returned to his therapy session.

Kid gave an annoyed grunt before answering, "A detective, like you, except I didn't investigate homicide."

"Elaborate," Killer's voice wasn't demanding.

"Why don't you elaborate on your job," Kid said, like a command instead of a question.

Killer's eyebrows knitted together, narrowing his eyes, and a crease formed on his forehead. Rubbing his forehead, trying to relax the muscles, the homicide detective sighed, obviously fed up, but also a little defeated.

"Eustass Kid," Killer stated flatly. "We didn't give you an epithet."

"Well that's a little disappointing," Kid stated, pausing before looking at the other man suspiciously. "So you did know," He said, a hint of accusation in his voice.

Killer only sighed, continuing on the useless session, or interrogation. It felt more like an interrogation than anything since Kid was so unwilling.

"Visionary, mission-oriented, hedonistic and power/control," Killer listed, lifting his head up to look back at Kid. "The main categories for killer motives. Hedonistic divides into three more sub-categories: lust, thrill, and comfort or profit. What category do you think you fall into?"

"Getting direct now huh?" Kid smiled at Killer who only narrowed his eyes. "I don't really get thrilled or maybe I do." He shrugged, again, not really answering the question. "Listen, knowing more about me won't help you understand the Surgeon of Death," Kid chuckled.

"Fine," Killer stated slightly annoyed, leaning back into the couch. "Then what do you want."

"To see the bodies."

"No," Killer said tersely.

"Pictures?" Kid asked sternly instead of with the juvenile tone of voice, surprising Killer who was about to respond with another terse 'no.'

"Tomorrow," Killer conceded unwillingly. "So will you talk now?"

"Well you're not very good at keeping promises," Kid tilted his head, eyeing the man.

Killer sighed and got up.

"I'll be back in an twenty minutes," He said, walking towards the door and opening it.

"Make sure it's iced," Kid shouted behind him as the door clicked shut.

He sat there for the whole twenty minutes, staring at the photos in front of him. He told the truth. He didn't get some sort of excitement out of bludgeoning the people or more like he wasn't seeking for the excitement when he decided to bludgeon those people to death– that's where the 'maybe I do' came in. Sure he enjoyed beating their brain out, literally, but the thrill of it wasn't the reason he killed. The exhilaration was sort of like a side-effect. No. That word had a negative connotation. The exhilaration was more like a bonus. His reason was, well, he didn't have a reason. He shook his head, dismissing an analysis of himself. This wasn't what he was here for. No. He wanted to know who the serial killer was. Track down the man that eluded the police for so long, putting a face to the mystery that was the Surgeon of Death. He didn't want to play cop. He was simply intrigued, curious even, to know who this person was.

He turned his head towards the door as he heard it click open. Killer walked into the room, holding a bottle of cold beer. The pop sound made when Killer opened the cap made Kid smile and crave the drink, taking it up immediately as it was placed in front of him.

Killer sat back down, across from Kid, and started from the beginning. "What was your childhood like?"

"Normal. A little poor, but not piss poor," Kid drank the beer, making a satisfied noise when he stopped.

"Parents? Siblings?" Killer pressed as Kid tried to wipe his mouth with his arms, but proven very difficult with his hands bound.

"I was an only child. I had my mom, but I never knew my dad."

"Did that in anyway affect you?"

Kid let out a loud laugh, "I didn't even know the man."

Killer nodded, jotting down a few notes on his pad.

"I may not have had a traditional family setting, but I liked my mom," Kid added, watching Killer scratch illegible writing onto the yellow paper.

"Any traumatizing events?"

"Not really. I saw old people make out once. That was pretty traumatizing," Kid grinned, wondering if the man would jot that down.

"You said you were a detective?" Killer continued.

"Eh. I got paid to track down and extort people but I didn't abide by any laws or have a fancy badge like you."

Killer nodded, "And what led you to that job?"

"I wasn't good at anything else. I guess I could've been a drug dealer but I'd have killed more people," Kid laughed at his own joke and chugged down the rest of the beer.

Killer continued to write a few notes, pausing as if hesitant to ask his next question, even though he had asked it before.

"So what category do you put yourself in?"

Kid held the empty bottle in his hand, dangling it for the therapist to see.

"It'd be nice if you brought a whole case."

Killer glanced towards the door, not wanting to waste another twenty more minutes.

"Category," he stated, then added much softer. "Please"

Kid quirked his brow, surprised that he had uttered the magic words.

"Normal," he stated as if it was obvious.

Killer took in the words, thinking about the next sentence or question that he should say.

"What sound mind would do what you did?" He eyed Kid, no accusation in his voice, just genuine interest.

"There's your problem," Kid chuckled. "You think only a crazy person would do what I did."

"Well if you told me your motives were mission-oriented, I wouldn't call you psychotic for your murders," Killer responded, knowing from his classes that not all serial killers were psychotic and mentally unsound.

"Murder? According to who? The law?" Kid scoffed. "Listen, I didn't pick those people or plan to kill them, but it happened. People die everyday," He shrugged. "Wars and bombings aren't natural disasters and they kill a lot of people. So shouldn't they be considered murders as well?"

Killer tried to mentally analyze the person in front of him, _Eustass Kid_, as the other continued to speak.

"Let's face it, if there wasn't a punishment, people would be killing each other left and right.

"So what? You're making your own laws?" Killer asked, trying to make Kid's thoughts more coherent, writing down all that the red head muttered.

"Not at all," Kid shrugged, placing the beer, that he had forgotten was still in his hands, on the table. "I'm just saying that your views and ethics are bound by society and the government."

"Wouldn't a mentally sound mind know to abide to those ethics?" Killer challenged, though there was nothing challenging in his tone of voice.

"Touché," Kid grinned. "So if the law forbid you from swatting an annoying fly, you'd abide by it?"

"So you're better than others?" Killer asked, not answering Kid's hypothetical one.

"No. Well, probably," Kid smirked, laughing as if he told another casual joke.

Killer didn't laugh at all, continuing to jot down the few _helpful_ notes he could get from his conversation with Kid.

Kid killed those people because he thought of them as annoying flies. So what? Humans were nothing more than insects to him? Killer rubbed his head again, trying to massage the stress of the multitude of questions, that wouldn't be answered soon, away. He didn't have much time.

"Listen," Kid stated, causing Killer to raise his head to look at the man. "I had no motives, you're right. I'm not some chosen person, or thrill seeker, or power hungry killer. So there's no point sitting around, asking me for reasons." Kid hit the nail on the head. Although Killer hadn't asked Kid directly, he was innately searching for the _real_ reasons that would come out from Kid's mouth, hidden between the words spoken.

Killer sighed once again, a resignation. He was tired. Tired of the case. Tired of dealing with Kid. Just plain tired.

"Alright. We'll continue tomorrow," Killer stood back up, gathering up the papers and photos that were strewn across the table. Once he had gathered and put everything into the folder, he turned and walked towards the door.

"Hey," Kid called, raising his cuffed hands as the other turned around.

Killer's hand reached for his front pant pocket, pausing as he hesitated, hovering over the key that was there.

"Part of the conditions," He stated flatly, dropping his hand, before opening the door and shutting it behind him.

Kid sighed. There was some space between the cuffs and his skin– they weren't bound as tightly as he'd been used to over the past years– so hopefully he won't lose circulation in the middle of the night. He got up and stalked over to his bed, throwing himself onto the soft bedding. He rolled over and waited for the lights to go out, taking a minute to realize that he had to switch them off himself. Grunting as he got up, he flipped the switch and lied back down. He stared at the ceiling, black in the darkness. Things weren't as exciting as he imagined– same situation only in a more comfortable setting. He sighed, giving up on finding out who the serial killer is. It wasn't that important anyways. Even if he knew, it wasn't like he could meet the man or talk to him casually and he certainly wasn't going to do anything to help the police. Oh well. It had been fun imagining the events in his head, but now that he had had a taste of the reality of the situation he couldn't care less. He sighed again.

_Whatever_.

Kid thought, closing his eyes and drifting off.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Forcing myself to update my fics before school starts woo! I'm trying to make things not boring but it's hard when the protagonist is stuck in a room with nothing to do. So I'm having a hard time figuring it how the story will proceed. I kinda have it, but not really, so updates will be slow as I try to figure things out. Plus school and time. Excuses haha.

Thank you all for reading :)

* * *

_Kid sat in the bar, drinking as much as his low salary could pay for. He wasn't drunk, not even tipsy. Being ten minutes away closing time, the bar was almost empty. He sat in the isolated corner of the bar, being obscured by the dim lighting. He wore a thick knitted hat that covered his red hair and forehead, a heavy coat over a black sleeveless shirt, heavy cotton gloves that remained in his coat, and a scarf that, for now, hung on the back of his chair. He didn't look out of place though, considering it was the coldest point of winter. A bunch of college juniors, about the same age as him, sat in the center of the room, making too much noise. _

_"Chug chug chug." They chanted as a handsome, lean man with short dirty blonde hair drank. He slammed the empty mug on the table, stood up, knocking his chair back, and raised his arms up in victory. _

_"Yeah Stryder!" The boys cheered at their friend's accomplishment. _

_Kid gave one glance at the college students before deciding to leave. He placed his money on the counter and made his way out. His job requests had been slow and as much as he wanted, he didn't have the money to get buzzed. He walked to the exit, pushing the heavy glass door, putting on his gloves and wrapping his dirty scarf around his face to protect himself from the harsh winter wind. As he left the student that had been chugging noticed him._

_"Hey fag." He slurred. Kid turned slightly, looked at him and left. "Don't ignore me!" He shouted as the door closed. Kid could hear a commotion, people shouting "chill out," "you're drunk," and so forth as the heavy, dirtied glass door opened again and the man stumbled out. _

_"I said hey!" The drunken college student followed as Kid walked away, ignoring the boy. The student continued to follow even as Kid turned into a dark alleyway to dodge him. The boy caught up quickly, pulling the hood of Kid's jacket and throwing him against the wall. _

_"Why you ignoring me tard?" His face close to Kid, alcohol heavy in his breath. _

_Kid didn't say anything, only narrowing his eyes at the boy. The boy broke out in laughter, releasing Kid. _

_"It's just a joke man." He shrugged, putting his hands up defensively, laughing harder. Spinning to look behind him as if showing some audience what he found so funny. As he turned back to look at the man he harassed, a crowbar connected to his ribs, knocking the air out of him. He didn't even have time to look the man in the face as three more blows hit his side, shattering his ribs, striking him to the floor. _

_"H-hey w-wait." He stuttered out, but, due to the wind being knocked out of him, the words came out softer than a whisper. Kid brought the crowbar down on his stomach three times, causing the victim to clutch his stomach and roll over as a sort of defensive maneuver. As he got up on one knee, attempting to run away, Kid swung the bar, hitting the back of his head. The loud crack of the skull was audible, and the man fell down again, groaning in pain, still alive, barely. His arms shook as it held his body up, blood dripping out of every orifice in his face. Another blow, breaking skin and causing blood to start pouring out. Before his unconscious body fell to the ground, the back of the head met another blow and another and the last one, splattering his shattered skull and brain matter against the floors, walls and metal dumpster in the alley. The body lay completely still in the alleyway, blood pooling at a rapid rate, as Kid held onto the crowbar and slowly walked away. Blood was splattered on his clothes and face, but being almost two in the morning, no one would notice as he walked home._

* * *

Kid's hand reflexively covered his face as the bright lights showed red through his eyelids.

"It's already eleven." The familiar voice sounded from the door.

"Well it's hard to tell when no sunlight gets through." Kid muttered, hands still covering his eyes.

Killer didn't reply, only walking over to the sofa and sitting down.

"Are you the only one that I'm going to see?" Kid asked aloud, though he wasn't really seeking an answer. He slowly rolled to his side, swinging his legs off the bed, and got up. "Well, I'm taking a shower." He walked to the bathroom, but he had only taken one step in before coming out.

"I'll be needing the keys for these." He held up his chained hands for Killer to see. The blonde man didn't say anything, hesitating.

"Look I'm just gonna shower, then you can cuff me again after." He rattled the chains, getting impatient. He just wanted a hot shower.

"Fine." Killer walked over and unlocked one side of the cuffs.

"Finally." Kid sighed. Although he would've preferred to have them off completely. He took of his shirt, tossing it on the floor as he walked back to the bathroom, leaving the door open.

The hot shower felt nice and he stayed in there longer than needed. Eventually he had to get out, wrapping himself in a towel that hung from the rack. He made his way out of the bathroom and onto the sofa across from Killer, who had sat there the entire time, staring at papers spread out upon the table like yesterday.

Kid watched the man sort through papers, got bored, and then stared around the room.

"Can we go outside?" Kid mumbled, lying down, feet propped on the arm of the couch. "The lack of sunlight will give me rickets."  
Killer sighed.

"You mean osteomalacia." He corrected, making Kid grumble. "And I don't think that's a problem."

Kid grumbled again, tossing around on the sofa.

"Can I converse with other people? I mean I like you but you're very boring." Kid turned his head to look at the man, who didn't return the stare and shuffled through his papers.

"No." Killer answered flatly. "I'm the only person authorized to come in here. "Also, re-cuff your hands."

Kid obediently did as he was told, laughing at the irony of it all.

"Seriously? You trust me to re-cuff my hands on my own?" He chuckled.

"Well you just did." Killer responded flatly as usual, without even glancing at the man.

Silence fell on them again as Killer continued to sort through papers and Kid stared, trying to make out the details on the papers that fascinated his therapist.

"Alright." Killer muttered. "Let's talk about your cases in more detail."

Kid narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything. He really didn't care anymore– at least for now– about the heart obsessed serial killer and maybe this conversation could be entertaining or at least a little insightful into the ways and workings of the police.

"Jean Stryder was found in the alley connecting to the bar around eight in the morning by the manager. Estimated time of death: 2:15am." Killer stated, waiting for Kid to say something, but the red head didn't say anything, not even a smirk.

"His friends that accompanied him stated that they thought he left, though most of them too drunk to remember details. Although the bartender mentioned the student chasing after a heavily clothed figure leaving the bar, no detailed descriptions could be given on the man's physical appearance. Surveillance tapes didn't capture anything either." Killer stopped again, looking up to see if Kid had anything to say. The man just laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling, glancing over at the blonde to see why he stopped.

"What?" He asked, looking slightly bored.

Killer only sighed, continuing his report.

"Police investigated the surrounding neighborhood, but no witnesses or leads could be found and the case was dismissed after two months."

"Just like that." Kid asked, his tone of voice filled with both surprise and accusation.

"With no murder weapon or detailed description of the perpetrator, the case was dead."  
Kid didn't respond but he looked contemplative. Killer stared for a few seconds before continuing, but before he could even start, he was cut off by the maniacal laughter coming from the red head.

Killer patiently waited for the man to collect himself, hoping that he had finally gotten somewhere.

"It's funny." Kid stated. "It took six hours to find a corpse pooling with blood. He must've been the douche of the group if none of his friends were willing to peek around a corner for him."

Kid continued to chuckle, musing over the events.

"Where did you dispose of the murder weapon?" Killer asked, trying to prod Kid.

Kid laid there awhile, silent.

"Have you ever read that detective book?" Kid asked casually. "There's a lot, though I'm talking about the first one."

"_Sherlock Holmes: A Study in Scarlet_." Killer named the book, hoping this digression was somehow related. He hated detective novels. The portrayal romanticized murder into some sort of good guy versus bad guy cliché. Utterly unrealistic and tasteless.

"Yeah, something like that." Kid chuckled. "I'm not a reader but I liked what that main guy said. " Kid turned to look at the psyche-analyst, but the man didn't respond, not even a slight nod.

"A simple case is harder to solve or something like that." Kid laughed.

"What do you mean?" Killer asked, his interest slightly piqued.

"It's idiots who try to cover up that get caught." Kid stated as if the answer were obvious. "I kept the weapon that's all." He smiled. "It was useful too." He added as an afterthought, laughing as if he told a joke.

Killer contemplated the statement.

"Weren't you afraid the police would find it?" He asked. After all the police searched the area and the possibility of them noticing wasn't naught.

"Only the idiots." Kid reminded Killer. After all there was never a perfect crimes so spending time mulling over every detail was pointless.

"Not just police." Killer added. "Neighbors, onlookers, anyone would've noticed something."

There was a slight paused before Kid answered.

"Never even crossed my mind." He dismissed. "But It didn't really matter since I don- didn't live even remotely close to the bar."

"Why were you there then?" Killer asked. More so curious than anything.

"What does it matter to you?" Kid smirked, getting up from the couch and walking toward the closet.

"What are you doing?" Killer asked his voice hiding the agitation. Finally able to get some information from the murderer, he didn't want to relapse into the erratic scenario from yesterday.

Kid waved dismissively. "Just need some pants. Relax."

Killer waited as Kid got dressed, contemplating the statement about Holmes. It seemed liable yet it didn't fit for the Surgeon of Death. If the murderer didn't care about covering up his tracks, surely there would be some sort of blunder. After all bludgeoning people and professional removing their hearts were two different things.

"Trying to connect with the Surgeon of Death huh?"

Killer started at the comment, looking up to see Kid staring at him, a big smug grin pasted on his face.

"Just contemplating the profundity of your statement." He returned monotonously.

"That's a poor attempt at humor." Kid smirk, returning to his place on the couch.

Killer simply returned to the papers in front of him; he wasn't trying to tell a joke.

"So Jean Stryder." Killer stated, trying to continue the flow of their conversation.

"What about him?" Kid quirked his brow.

"What did he do?" Killer asked, making up the question. He had hoped the mention of the victim's name would start some conversation going.

Kid only looked at the profiler, a sort of amusement playing across his face.

"Like I said. Nothing. You should cut the bullshit if you want to find something helpful."

Before Kid could really push the man's buttons, he was abruptly cut off by the loud uninteresting ringtone of Killer's cellphone, which the therapist picked up on the second ring.

"Agent Killer." He stated in that same monotone voice he always had, nodding after every phrase he uttered. "Robin did? Yes. I'll be there."

Killer stood up, not even putting away his papers, and walked towards the door.

"We'll continue this tomorrow." Killer said and then abruptly left.

"Wait what am I suppose to do for the rest of the day!?" Kid shouted after the blonde man as the doors shut and locked. He ran his hands through his red hair, letting out a long sigh.

"Fuck." He laid down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Fuuuuccckkkk."

He turned his head to look at the scattered papers that Killer had failed to take with him. From where he laid, he saw the pictures of all his victims. He hardly remembered their faces or why their pictures laid scattered on the table. The only thing he could somewhat remember was the actually murdering. He was curious about the papers, but not curious enough to go through them.

If he tried, he could vaguely recall the moments where he bashed their skulls in and watched the blood run out, but only vaguely. Being bored, he let his mind wander and eventually they drifted to the thing that's got everyone's feathers ruffled: the current serial killings. Kid might've killed on impulse, but the Surgeon of Death seemed a little different. A killing describes the killer, and surgically cutting out internal organs seemed too precise and organized to be done on impulse.

_What does a guy do with so many hearts anyways?_ Kid questioned. _Eat them? Black Market?_

It made more sense to Kid if the man were selling the hearts. It'd explain the professionalism and the lack of patterns. All he would need were healthy hearts. What bothered Kid, though, was why so many? Surely eleven hearts in two months would raise some suspicion, even in the most obscured clinic. Unless he's distributing them evenly among different hospitals.  
Kid ran his hands through his hair again. It didn't make sense. The police would've suspected something, after all they're not ignorant to these things. The underworld is a necessary evil and, as long as it's controlled, the government turns a blind eye.

Maybe he's keeps them before delivering.

Kid sighed. Where would someone keep a heart? If he's selling them, he needs them to still be beating right? Which means he needs some sort of machine.

_Do they even have those?_ Kid questioned. _Can't you just freeze it?_

He sat up and started pacing the room. He wasn't a doctor and the procedure to transplant a heart– or any organ for that matter– eluded him. How long did a heart even last outside the body? Half a day? Maybe more?

"Fuck." Kid muttered.

He settled on the bed, still pondering about the killer. Maybe if he asked, they'll give him some reference books. Like he said to Killer, he wasn't a reader, but since there's nothing to do in this isolated room, might as well. At least at the mental institution there were other people to keep him company. Even if that company was incomprehensive muttering, unintelligible screaming and maniacal laughter, it was still better than this unbearable silence.

It was barely past two in the afternoon, but, being bored, Kid started drifting in and out of sleep. Nothing occupying his mind except the whiteness of the ceiling and the blinding lights, shining in his eyes.

It reminded him of a hospital.


End file.
